Kate Meader Quotes

He's the opposite of cute. He's like a cross between an Orc and Ent. He has the big, brutish body of an Orc but he got some Ent genes, probably from his mother's side. Basically a tree-trunk with good hair."

Peyton's nose twitched. Lord of the Ring references were not her jam. "You've given this a lot of thought.

tee that stretched taut against his powerful

Her cousin had clearly found a kindred penis in Jack Kilroy.

Ah, hell. As had been demonstrated several times already this week, her brain was not the boss of her.

A strong but gentle grip on her nape had pulled her back to make the acquaintance of a warm slab of granite. Callused fingers held her neck while a blunt hand fanned her hip, locking her into position against something hard and hot.
It could have been anyone, but after just one afternoon of Flynn-spun intimacy, her body knew its owner.

She squeezed her thighs together, desperate for relief. Aiming for completion without doing something so deliberate as touching herself. Look ma, no hands!

Had she mentioned she liked a guy with big hands?

Thank you, Dad. Thank you for pissing me off so much that it made me strong and beautiful.

That's right, baby. Scratch me up. Make your mark. I wanna look at my body later and know who I belong to.

Emma Strickland was not who she seemed. He intended to find out more, unlock whatever secrets she was keeping inside her sexy halter and shiny hot pants. Without removing her sexy halter and shiny hot pants, because that would be wrong. With a capital W.

Inch by beautiful inch, Grant stole his way into my body and into my heart. The feel of him stretching me, challenging me to work with him, was exquisite.

It would be the story of us.

Her head felt like miniature construction workers had taken up residence. Along with jackhammers and pneumatic drills, they were now whistling at passing women and yelling "Hey, baby!" She made the pledge of hung-over idiots everywhere: I'm never drinking again.

Don't ever claim to be fast, Kilroy. No woman wants to hear that.

That voice. It couldn't be.
She turned.
The Marine.
Her brain tried to compute the man before her. The same uncompromising blue-gray eyes, but more distant. The same fit body, but more space filling. The same rugged features, but more bearded.

Bearded!

I've got you, he whispered.
With strong hands, he raised her body, her lips to his, and the resulting union streaked through her like fire. Their mouths might be made for sniping, but mostly they were made for this. Better they should be used for this. A perfect melding of lips and tongues, the tangle so sweet, the chemistry so right.
I've got you. For the first time in what seemed like forever, someone had her.

How about some hot chocolate, Mrs. C?" Beck asked. "Warm those crabby old bones of yours." "Let's hope you're hung, young man, because you're certainly not charming.

It's more common for people to get fire tattoos. Symbols of passion, transformation, change. But I wanted smoke because it's what remains. After the fire, after everything is destroyed, you're left with smoke and ash. You've gotta make somethin' out of it.

He'd never answered the text from his brother last night because he was otherwise occupied getting a gorgeous stranger off on an open-air balcony in the middle of downtown Chicago. You couldn't make this shit up.
Penthouse, check your mail.

He fell to his knees.
Oh, that was good.

They're a slow-moving lot, reporters. Slothlike. Weighed down by all that righteous indignation about the freedom of the press and the public's right to know, not to mention the liquid lunches they see as their constant due. Go out now and you're playing right into their grasping, ink-stained hands." He cocked an ear to the door. "I'm doing my best to protect your reputation here. It wouldn't do to have a serving wench caught in a compromising position with the lord of the manor."
"You don't have the cleavage to make a good serving wench, Eli.

She'd fallen in love with a man who risked it all to stoke the embers of desire created that first night and turn those sparks into flames of love. Who saw what she couldn't because her heart was closed to the possibilities. Who respected and cherished all she was.

Ford "Killer" Callaghan slayed her every time, and she was happy to die in his arms every night.

You're filled with passion and ambition and appetites, and I'm the man to match you. I want a woman who knows who she is, who doesn't need me to define her because she's already her own person.

Shut it, Flynn. Just ... oh God, you've been impossible to evict, because possession is nine-tenths of the law. You're inside me. A part of me. But you pulled me close with one hand and crushed my heart with the other, and I can't go through that again.

The only good deed I'll be doing tonight is for the angels."
"The angels?"
"Haven't you heard? Every time I make you come, an angel gets his wings."
Brady dropped his smoky gaze to Gage's mouth for a beat. "We really need to leave. Now.

We can," he murmured against her mouth, his breath a hot puff of longing. "We can do anything we want. I've never met anyone who needs to be held and loved as much as you do, Harper. Well, it so happens that you've got a man here with strong arms made to keep you safe. With so much love inside him that it's just busting to get out. It's all for you, minou. No one else I'd rather give it to.

Leave the orgasm, take the cannoli?

I don't think we've met," he said in all seriousness, and her body's reaction to that voice confirmed his lie. Her body knew that voice like a snake knew its charmer.

I have waited my entire life to love you and I refuse to let your stubbornness take you away from me.

Yes, it's me, your PA, now your stripper for the evening. How do you do?

An inappropriate attraction to your friend's fiancé was grounds for disbarment from the Woman Club. Neither did it make a lick of sense. He was uncouth, uneducated, uncivilized. All of their conversations back then had been unholy bicker fests where they charged from the opposite ends of the spectrum, determined not to meet in the middle but to rip pieces out of each other on the drive by.

I'm cheerful because the alternative is to see obstacles everywhere and expect people will hurt you. I choose to live in full color. I choose to say hey there to the hotties, fuck off to the haters, tell lovers how I want it, and people how it shall be.

Alexandra, I can handle my own fucking cock."

Stitch that on a pillow.

It didn't get much more patriotic than sex in a Chevy on the Fourth of July. God bless America.

And then that mouth was speaking Russian, rough, sexy, sweet nothings that drove her wild. Forced out all common sense. His mouth trailed her jaw, delivering little nips and hot licks to her neck.

"Bella" - something in Russian - "Bella" - more Russian - "Bella." As if one language was inadequate to express how she affected him.

We have gone zero days without a panties-dampening episode.

Molly Cade, you could be wearing a White Sox shirt, a Yankees thong, and a Packers Cheesehead and I would still want to do you."
She sighed. "Such a romantic.

Stop twisting what I'm saying. It's not how you start, it's where you end up. This is where we are now and it's worth fighting for.

Knowing what she did to him made her feel powerful, just as knowing what he did to her made her feel weak.

She should pull away, even though she had begged for it with her smart mouth. She should punish him for every crime he'd perpetrated. For being too good-looking, too sexy, too everything. But the kiss was like him - just too damn good. Warm and brutal, providing answers to questions she never knew she had. He teased with his tongue along the seam of her mouth, seeking that last nudge of acceptance as if it was his God-given right.
She parted her lips, and like a predator hinged on her threshold, he took.

I could just as easily have taken the train.
He shut his eyes, just long enough for a movie of a Tess-induced train riot to screen on the backs of his eyelids. Fists flying, teeth broken, friendships destroyed as men vied to get closer to her lush body barely covered in that incendiary French maid outfit.
And now he was turning hard again.

My motto has always been: a hard man is good to find." Tess gave Hunter's unflinching bicep a gentle squeeze, claiming it and the man for her own. "And never let the bride stand in the way of me and my hard man.

What would it be like to be caught in the emotional crosshairs of a man like Luke Almeida? To belong to him, body and soul? The prospect warmed her some. Scared her more. With Luke, she suspected there would be no half measures.

He looked like he might break out into an irate merengue any minute. Patrick Swayze reincarnated.

Girl walked into a bar, hooked up her destiny.

She leaned in, a tip she had read today on HuffPo's Love & Sex section. Boobs out, smile wide, voice low.
Being sexy was exhausting.

Straight talk is a virtue. Dirty talk is a goddamn blessing.

Vadim sat up, unfairly pulling the towel over his groin so she missed the main attraction. Had he changed in the intervening years? If anything, he had to have grown bigger, which was terrifying, because the boy had rocked a manaconda at nineteen. Dicks didn't shrink with time, did they?
Note to self: Google penis size changes with age. For science.

Flynn was kissing her again, not to help her forget but to force her to remember. Everything he had meant to her then. Everything he meant to her now. How he always had been, and forever would be, her world.

The words hung in the air like dense weighted objects
waiting to crash. Her breath hung with it. He should have frozen, pushed her away, anything but what he did.
He kissed her gently on the top of her head.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she burrowed closer into the safety of all that warm skin. He was naked, yet she was the one completely and utterly exposed.

He fingered her nape, massaging his sensual intent. I'll give you whatever you want whenever you want it. Any time of day, you need relief, just crook your finger and I'll crook mine. Against you, inside you, deep as you need it. If I'm not around, text me and I'll come, ready to make you come. For one week, I'll fulfill every fantasy on demand and get you off so many times we'll break records.

Everywhere Gage looked, his fingers itched to touch and his brain raced to keep up. A snake coiled beneath his right pec, an eagle took flight over his left. Stars, numbers, and Celtic symbols fought for real estate. Gage would need weeks to explore the storied terrain of Brady's body.
Better put in for some vacation time now.

I'm just a simple guy. I love beer, sex, and hockey. I hate liars, Sting, and art that doesn't have people in it. - Luke Almeida

Watching him walk over, Alex mused that Eli Cooper was the sort of man who knew how to use his physicality. Beneath his handmade shirts and tailored suits, a street fighter hummed through every loose-limbed motion. But that impression did not extend to his face, which was structurally perfect. Skyscraper-high cheekbones. Superhero jaw. A mouth that should have a government warning. There were no signs of past trouble with a jealous husband or an abandoned girlfriend. No one had ever broken his nose. No one had busted his lip.
Strange, because her first instinct on seeing him was to roundhouse kick him into the next millennium.

What can I do to get you out of your shirt today, Luke?
Her voice held a husky, wheeler-dealer tone, the kind of voice for which he was likely to do anything. He imagined that voice whispering in his ear, issuing wicked orders, making him hard as steel.

Hauling a deep, make-me-feel-sexy breath, she
pinned on what she hoped was a coquettish smile, turned as smoothly as her bulky gown allowed, and found her previously pleasure-filled sightline newly blocked by sixfoot- and-change of home-grown Texas assholery.
This particular example happened to have thick, wavy
hair as dark as his heart, deep, soulful eyes as blue as the garter still circling her thigh, and a face that made angels weep. Probably after he'd screwed them senseless, knocked them up, and abandoned them with a wink and a smile.

You have a common condition called orgasm brain."

"Let me guess. The cure is more orgasms?"

"How did you know?

And the dancing? Was that your gift to the world? Because if so, I hope you kept the receipt.

Gripping her wrists, he pinned her tight to the vanity. "That sex as a weapon thing can only get you so far, Tess."
Wanna bet? "I'm not damaged, cowboy. I don't have hang-ups about my body, I don't use sex to mask my problems" - much - "and right now, if you don't touch me in some very hot, very wet places, I might die.

But you just got laid. Very well, I might add. Isn't that enough to tide you over for a while?"
"Maybe for a woman. But if a man doesn't use the goods, they shrivel up - "
She rolled her eyes.
" - and now that I've realized what I've been missing, and you've done such a great job getting me back up on the horse, for which I'm immensely grateful, then I think I'm ready to spread my wings." He motioned to the wing spreading area. His groin. "This really shouldn't go to waste, now, should it?

His anger seemed out of proportion to the crime. Men. Give them an orgasm and they want ... well, probably more orgasms.

Most guys would be happy to have a woman so vocal about her desires," he said in a voice several degrees huskier than before. "Half the time, we have no clue if a woman is enjoying herself."
"Really?"
"Not me. Just trying to represent for my maligned gender.

Find 'em hot, leave 'em wet," he murmured.
"Well known firefighter maxim.

From time immemorial we've been cleaning up after male messes. When a man does it for a woman, it's called being rescued. When a woman does it for a man, it's housework.